


Going Grey

by GreenLies



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Coronavirus, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Canon, Quarantine, Soulmates, This is so self indulgent I'm sorry, why isn't that a tag uh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:34:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25595098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreenLies/pseuds/GreenLies
Summary: "He pulled out the strand and held it up to the light, just to be sure.There was no mistaking it.The hair was grey."orAU where people stop aging until they meet their soulmateORThe BokuAka quarantine fic for all your COVID needs
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou
Comments: 6
Kudos: 186





	Going Grey

**Author's Note:**

> Please read! Before we jump in, I just want to explain this AU so we're all on the same page. 
> 
> You've probably heard of it, but it's basically where once you turn 18 you stop aging until you meet your soulmate so you can grow old together. I created a bit of a hybrid to fit my storyline - this AU still holds true except for hair color, which changes pretty much immediately after you meet your soulmate, no matter what age you are. 
> 
> Additionally, people who don't meet their soulmates don't stop aging completely, but they age at about half the rate that soulmates do. So if you haven't met your soulmate, you'll look twenty when you're forty, forty when you're eighty, etc. 
> 
> I hope that makes sense!

**January 23, 2018**

Bokuto was away, but Akaashi was used to that. He was always away with long nights, and games, and practices. Akaashi didn’t mind. 

Most mornings, he found himself waking up with his arms wrapped around the pillow on Bokuto’s side of the bed, his face buried in it in hopes of picking up any lingering scent that his husband had left behind - the scent of fresh snow and pine needles and warm oak and that stupid body spray he used. 

But even on those days, he didn’t mind. Akaashi knew what he was getting into when he put the ring on Bokuto’s finger two years ago, and he wouldn’t trade it for anything. 

He got up to fix his and Bokuto’s side of the bed, showered, and put on tea while he buttoned up his shirt. Bokuto’s occupation whisked him away to different countries and cultures, but Akaashi’s stayed constant, twenty minutes away from their apartment. 

He was running a comb through his hair when he saw it. A flyaway, straying from the left side of his head. He was about to push it back when he noticed it glimmer. 

Akaashi frowned and leaned in closer to the mirror. 

He pulled out the strand and held it up to the light, just to be sure. 

There was no mistaking it. 

The hair was grey. 

Now, Akaashi considered himself to be an organized man overall. He always showed up to work at 9 in the morning and left at 5 in the evening. He made the bed and brushed his teeth twice a day. He kept all of his emotions stored in different boxes within his brain and never, ever cried. 

So it was a bit embarrassing when he ended up blubbering on the phone not one minute later. 

“ _Akaashi? Baby? Are you okay?”_ He couldn’t blame Bokuto for sounding concerned. A screaming Akaashi was not something many people would want to wake up to. 

He tried to explain, really, but the words that came out of his mouth were unintelligible and garbled with tears. Bokuto must have gotten the general idea, however, because Akaashi could hear him choking up too. 

“ _Oh my god._ ”

“I know.” 

“ _Akaashi, oh my god._ ” 

And so it went for fifteen more minutes. 

Surprisingly, Bokuto was the first to pull himself together. “Akaashi, you know I love you, but you should go.” 

Akaashi was still sniffling. “Yeah. I know.” There was no way he would make it to work on time, but his boss would understand, and Bokuto had a busy day ahead of him. 

“I’ll be home before you know it, and we can celebrate for real.” Akaashi imagined him sitting in the kitchen, his feet up on the table in the way Akaashi always scolded him for, his smile bringing warmth into their small home. “So just wait, okay?”

“Okay,” Akaashi whispered, clutching his phone. “I love you. I love you so much.”

“I love you too. Have fun at work today.” 

“Good luck with your game.” Akaashi kept the dates of all of Bokuto’s matches circled in purple ink on the calendar in their living room. 

After he hung up, the silence seemed to drip from the ceiling and waft through the air. He was used to being alone, but he missed Bokuto so much at that moment - he missed his stupid hair and his strong arms and his booming laugh that would light up every corner of the room. 

But as usual, Bokuto was also right - he did have work today, no matter what events had already happened. 

And so he dried his face, grabbed his bag, and took a deep breath to steady himself before walking out the door. 

  
  


**March 4, 2020**

Akaashi ran his hand through Bokuto’s hair. The man had gotten exponentially better at keeping the hills and valleys of his emotions under control, but this, of course, was a special circumstance. 

“It will be okay, Bokuto.” He scratched his nails into the man’s scalp, the way that he knew would calm his husband. They were laid out on the couch, Bokuto’s head resting on Akaashi’s shoulder. “We have savings. I can work from home. This isn’t forever.” 

“No,” Bokuto agreed tearfully. Akaashi’s shirt was wet, but that was the least of either of their problems. “But it’ll be worse before it’s better.” 

The first few hours after Bokuto got the call had been torrential. A disease was spreading through Japan - through the world, really - and of course, Bokuto couldn’t play volleyball in those conditions. Instead, they were both being forced to stay home until the curve flattened and the disease passed over. 

Bokuto had cried, and sulked, and then cried some more. Akaashi held him through it, whispering soothing words and kissing his forehead. He understood. To someone like Akaashi, staying at home for a month or two wouldn’t differ too much from his normal routine. 

But for Bokuto, who played volleyball like he needed it to breathe, a month without leaving his home would be torture. Combined with the fact that they would be losing essentially half their income, Akaashi could see why Bokuto was so upset. 

“Maybe.” Akaashi smiled down at Bokuto. “But we’ll get through it. We always do.” 

Bokuto gave him a small, watery smile back. “We always do,” he repeated. 

“I’ll grab dinner and we can eat here. Does that sound okay?” Bokuto nodded again and Akaashi kissed his hand one last time before maneuvering himself out of Bokuto’s death grip. 

On his way to the kitchen, he paused to look in the mirror that decorated their hall. His hair had developed a grey undertone that somehow worked with his natural color. Small lines decorated the skin around his mouth and above his eyebrows, threatening to grow into wrinkles someday. Combined with the dark circles under his eyes and the way his nose kept twitching from stress, Akaashi knew he had seen better days. 

He heated up two bowls of leftovers from the refrigerator, not in the mood to cook. He and Bokuto usually switched off making dinners, depending on who got home first. 

Bokuto was sitting up and scrolling through his phone, so Akaashi assumed he was feeling at least a bit better as they both said a soft thank you and dug into their food. 

Akaashi smiled again when Bokuto took a piece of fish from his plate, snatching some of his rice in return. He then leaned in close, savoring Bokuto’s body heat and the way his strong arms wrapped around him. 

Everything would be okay. 

**April 14, 2020**

A lesser man, or perhaps someone who hadn’t known Bokuto as long, would be afraid to be stuck in quarantine with the man. His boundless energy and the fact that nobody was allowed to go anywhere seemed destined to mix into a cocktail of disaster. 

Of course, Akaashi knew better. 

Bokuto was kind. Akaashi was sure that being pent up in the house was killing him, but Bokuto didn’t show it. He went on runs twice a day and would hit a volleyball around their backyard, but he never breathed down Akaashi’s neck or watched him work or demanded attention. He understood that Akaashi needed time to himself, be it for work or a movie, or just to be alone with his thoughts.

Instead, Bokuto began to show his affection in other ways. He would bring fruit to Akaashi when Akaashi was working, draw a bath for him after long days, and make dinner most evenings. He was strangely doting, which was surprising, considering neither of them had ever been the domestic type. 

Bokuto, the housewife. The thought almost made Akaashi laugh. 

He was endlessly grateful. Quarantine had been faring better for them than it had for most of their friends. He and Bokuto knew how to give each other space and they knew how to be close. Bokuto knew boundaries. Akaashi knew limits. They understood each other well enough to know what the other wanted. And their money was lasting - if they were careful, they would be just fine. 

Despite the global pandemic, despite the illness that surrounded them, Akaashi was happy. 

Of course, the other shoe had to drop eventually. 

And this time, it happened on a rainy Tuesday evening while he and Bokuto cuddled in their bed. Or rather, he was cuddling Bokuto - running a hand through his hair as Bokuto rested on Akaashi’s chest, snoring softly. 

He always smiled when he slept. Akaashi loved it. 

His hair was soft and pliant. He had stopped styling it when they had started quarantine, and the result was long and silky and framed his face beautifully. Akaashi used his thumb to sort through the tangles. Perhaps he should just cut it himself - as much as he loved the long hair, Bokuto’s roots were beginning to show. 

His roots were beginning to show. 

Akaashi’s heart turned to ice.

_His roots were beginning to show._

They had been dating for six years, married for four, and Bokuto’s roots were beginning to show. 

Akaashi slipped out of bed. 

Bokuto’s hair had always been white. 

Everyone had somewhere between five to ten soulmates. You were lucky if you met even one of them in your lifetime. Akaashi thought that Bokuto had been one of the rare people to meet a soulmate when he was too young to realize, or to only have made eye contact with them for a second, rendering him aging but without the one who caused it. 

And Akaashi had always been at peace with that. Perhaps he hadn’t been the one to begin Bokuto’s descent to old age, but Bokuto had chosen him. And more importantly, _he_ had chosen Bokuto. 

Or so he had thought. 

He traced the man’s forehead with a finger before sweeping it down his jaw. Bokuto had a boyish face, with baby fat still rounding out his cheeks. He didn’t have any wrinkles. It was almost as if, in the last six years, he hadn’t aged at all. 

Akaashi wondered how he hadn’t noticed before. Although he supposed that if you saw someone so often, you wouldn’t be able to see the changes in their face that came with time. Or rather, the lack thereof. 

His feet moved faster than his brain and he found himself kneeling over a duffle bag, stuffing in clothes and his laptop and a toothbrush and anything else he could think of. His mind was beginning to thaw, and the utter feelings of _betrayal_ and _shock_ and _hurt_ were starting to worm their way up inside him. 

He shoved them back down. Rational. He had to be rational. 

Still in his pajamas, he put on a mask and heaved the duffle bag over his shoulder. He grabbed his keys that still hung over the front door, hardly used nowadays, and slipped out without so much as a creak. 

Once he was cloaked by the cool night air, he finally allowed his tears to fall. 

\--

It was 10 PM, and Akaashi didn’t care. He banged louder on the door in front of him, resisting the urge to scream. 

He had already gotten through the denial portion of his grief and was beginning to feel anger curdle in his stomach, hot and ugly. 

He welcomed it. 

Someone pushed open the door. 

“Whoever is out here had better have a damn good reason-” Kuroo’s eyes fell on Akaashi’s face. “Akaashi?”

“Keiji?” Kenma peeked out from behind Kuroo. 

“I promise I’m not sick. I’ve been quarantined, I promise, I was just with Bokuto and he-” Akaashi cut his own explanation off with a muffled choking sound. 

Kenma was in front of Kuroo now, not bothering to hide his shock as he grabbed Akaashi by the wrist and guided him to the couch with gentle hands. Kuroo grabbed his duffle bag and shut the door behind them. 

Within five minutes Akaashi was seated under the kotatsu, clutching a warm mug of tea, Kuroo and Kenma looking at him with the question written all over their faces. 

“Akaashi-” Kuroo started but Kenma stopped him with a hand on his arm. He nodded at Akaashi, letting him know they would listen whenever he was ready to talk. 

Akaashi stared at the ceiling as he spoke. “Bokuto has brown hair.” 

After a few seconds of silence, he spared a glance at the two. Kuroo looked slightly baffled, but Kenma stared at him with an overwhelming look of sympathy. “Keiji, I’m so sorry.” 

Akaashi thought he had cried himself out on the way there, but he felt tears well up in his eyes again at Kenma’s expression. 

  
  


“Oh, Akaashi.” Kuroo’s voice was gentle as he finally understood, and he stepped forward to wrap Akaashi in a hug. 

Akaashi felt his emotion spill over as he allowed himself to bury his face in Kuroo’s chest, Kenma coming up behind him to rub slow soothing circles over his back. 

It took another fifteen minutes for his sobs to quiet down. 

“I never really thought about it.” He looked at the tea that he had wrapped his hands around so he wouldn't have to see Kuroo and Kenma’s pitying expressions. “I would be okay if I wasn’t the only one. But it seems as though I’m not the one at all.” 

“Did you talk to him about it?” Kenma asked. 

“No. I don’t even want to see him right now.”

“He’s asking about you,” Kuroo added, waving his phone. “He’s worried. Can I tell him you’re here?”

Akaashi buried his face in his knees. 

“I’ll just tell him that you’re fine and need space. I won’t say anything else, I promise.” Akaashi had to give Kuroo credit - as conniving as the man could be, he possessed the ability to stay neutral when the situation called. Especially considering his friendship with Bokuto. 

“Okay.” 

Kenma watched Akaashi shift further under the kotatsu. Akaashi knew he probably had some stupid bead of wisdom that he was just dying to say, but he wouldn’t, not while Akaashi was still so vulnerable. Instead, he muttered that he was going to grab the spare futon and left the room. 

“You should sleep,” Kuroo told him softly. He was now gathering the mugs they had been using a few moments ago. “Everything will look better in the morning. Have you eaten?”

Akaashi nodded as Kenma returned hauling the futon. 

“Let us know if you need anything, okay?” Kuroo said in parting. 

Akaashi nodded and Kuroo and Kenma left. It stung more than it should have. 

Akaashi was alone. He was sure that Bokuto would be texting and calling as though the world was ending, but he wouldn’t know. He had turned his phone off the minute he left. 

He expected to have difficulty falling asleep, but it came to him easily, probably due to the stress of crying so much. 

If he had any dreams, he didn’t remember them. 

\--

He woke to the smell of pancakes wafting through the air. It enticed him, and he stumbled to the kitchen despite how heavy his body and mind felt. 

Kuroo had been right. Akaashi’s head felt a bit clearer. He still had no idea what he was going to do about Bokuto, but at least he didn’t feel the need to cry every time he thought about it. 

He approached Kuroo in the kitchen. He was flipping pancakes while Kenma sat cross-legged on the counter playing a game on his handheld.

It was disgustingly domestic. Akaashi resisted the urge to slam his head in a cabinet. “Do you need any help?”

“I’m almost done,” Kuroo replied. “This is the last batch. You could take the plates out, though.” 

And so Akaashi sat at their small table, stuffing himself with pancakes and shifting awkwardly as Kuroo chatted animatedly about some new movie coming out. 

Kenma eyed Akaashi over his glass of juice and Akaashi gulped. Kenma was about to drop the bomb. 

Sure enough, he spoke for the first time that day. “Akaashi, you know you’re always welcome to stay here for as long as you need.”

Akaashi nodded.

“But you need to realize that Bokuto probably wasn’t trying to manipulate you. Do you really think he would do that?” 

There it was. Kenma was blunt, in the best and worst of ways. 

And, more importantly, he was right. Because Akaashi _did_ know that Bokuto would never do this on purpose. The man who cried when those stupid stray dog ads came on television and always kissed Akaashi when he came home simply wasn’t capable of lying in such a direct manner. 

He had known Bokuto for a long time. The chance of him purposefully keeping up a lie for so long was very, very small. 

“I know.” Akaashi avoided eye contact with either of them. “But that doesn’t change the situation.”

“Don’t you think you should talk about it?” Kuroo asked. “There’s a lot he probably wants to say to you as well.”

“Maybe,” Akaashi replied. “But I need some time.” 

“Like Kenma told you, you’re always welcome,” Kuroo said. “Take whatever time you need.” 

Akaashi gave a small smile in thanks. 

He spent the day on his laptop. Kuroo and Kenma’s guest room was nice, but there were so many windows and the radiator was loud and it felt so different from the home he had adapted to. 

And despite all the emotions that he was still working his way through, the rational part of his brain knew that talking to Bokuto would be the only way to truly put himself at ease. 

He allowed himself one more day as a guest, lounging in the sunroom while one of the couple’s cats snoozed on his lap. By the evening he made up his mind, silently picking at his food while Kuroo and Kenma spoke softly. And the next morning, he gathered his nerve and unlocked the door to his own house. 

Bokuto was on him instantly. “Akaashi! Are you okay? What happened? I was so worried, and Kuroo said you were okay but that’s the exact thing someone who isn’t okay would say and-”

“Bokuto, I’m fine,” Akaashi said tiredly. “Sit down. We need to talk.” 

Bokuto’s face fell into an expression he hadn’t seen since volleyball season was postponed at the beginning of March. He looked so frightened and confused that for a moment Akaashi felt a stab of guilt. 

They sat on opposite ends of the couch. 

“Bokuto,” Akaashi began. “Your hair.”

“My hair?”

“Your roots are brown.”

The words didn’t have the desired effect. Bokuto cocked his head to the side, puzzled. “Yeah. Is that a bad thing?”

“Bokuto, what color are my roots?”

“Grey, but-” Realization dawned on him. “Oh.”

Akaashi waited. Bokuto opened and closed his mouth several times, trying to find the right words. 

“Akaashi,” he finally started. “I didn’t think this was such a big deal to you.”

“ _Not a big deal?”_ Akaashi took a deep breath. “Bokuto, we’re talking about _soulmates._ ” 

“Yes, but logically, everyone only has a handful of soulmates in the whole world, right?” Bokuto was leaning forward now, hands on his knees. “It would be stupid to go on a wild goose chase when I have everything I could want right in front of me.”

Akaashi cursed the way his face heated up in spite of himself. How could Bokuto be so nonchalant about this? “That’s not funny.”

“I’m not trying to be! It doesn’t matter to me if the universe thinks some random guy in Australia or Brazil is a better match for me. I want to be with you.” 

“No! Bokuto.” Akaashi shook his head, trying to keep tears in. “Bokuto, you’re going to have to watch me _die_.” 

“I know that.” Bokuto’s voice had gone gentle, and he took one of Akaashi’s hands. Akaashi let him. “Akaashi, there’s not anything that could happen that would make me not choose you.” 

That did it. Akaashi’s tears spilled over and he sobbed, clutching Bokuto’s hand like a lifeline. “I’m going to be 40 and you’ll still be 18. You’re going to be waiting for me forever.” The thought made him cry a little harder, and _oh_ , now Bokuto was holding him tightly. 

“I know. I know.” Bokuto stroked his hair. 

“I can’t do that to you.”

“You aren’t doing anything to me. I just want to be with you.”

With that, Akaashi wrapped his arms around Bokuto, and they sat there, entangled in each other. 

“I’m sorry for running out on you,” Akaashi finally said. 

“I’m sorry for not telling you earlier,” Bokuto replied. “I should have realized how much it meant to you.” 

“Bokuto, I love you. But I don’t know if you understand what you’re getting into.” 

“Akaashi, I’m not stupid. I understand. And I’m okay with it.” 

And Akaashi was selfish. Akaashi knew that he couldn’t subject his lover to a fate as terrible as being forced to watch his husband die. 

He could deal with that when they were older. Maybe tomorrow, maybe in ten years. 

But for now, they were young, and they had plenty of time to make mistakes. 

So Akaashi kissed Bokuto, selflessly, shamelessly, and with the hope of savoring all the days they had left. 

**July 28, 2022**

They were on the couch. It was a Friday, and their movie night had ended in the usual way - Bokuto snoozing on Akaashi’s lap. Akaashi mindlessly ran his fingers through his hair, parting it this way and that. He had let it grow out into brown, although he said he would begin to dye it again as Akaashi’s age became more prominent. 

Akaashi had hit him with a pillow and said _if you start calling me old, I swear to god I’ll bleach it myself,_ and Bokuto had simply laughed and pulled Akaashi into his arms. 

And then Akaashi’s hand froze. 

Because Bokuto’s roots were growing in. 

Akaashi would have laughed at the bizarre sense of deja vu if he hadn’t been so shocked by the grey that lined Bokuto’s scalp. 

Later, he would say it was a testament to their trust and their time together that the idea of Bokuto cheating didn’t even cross his mind. Instead, he was immediately worried that Bokuto was sick. Fear took over his mind as he jumped to the worst conclusions. Maybe Bokuto had some sort of rapid-aging syndrome. Maybe Akaashi would end up being the one having to watch him die.

He shook Bokuto. “Wake up. Babe.” 

It was eight in the morning on a Saturday, so Akaashi couldn’t really blame him for shuffling his way out of bed, into a pair of pants and a clean shirt, and into Akaashi’s car before he even had the mind to ask where they were going.

“The doctor,” Akaashi replied. “Bokuto, check your scalp.” 

Bokuto looked in the rearview mirror for about five seconds before panic crossed his face. His train of thought went to the exact one Akaashi had avoided. “Akaashi, I swear, you know I’d never-”

“I know,” Akaashi said, not taking his eyes off the road. “I trust you.”

But he became frantic when the doctor looked at Bokuto. “Is he going to die?”

“Not that I can see. This is the type of aging that usually only happens after one meets their soulmate.”

The doctor looked at Bokuto’s scalp, took a strand of his hair, and looked some more. 

“You’re saying you don’t know where this came from?”

“No!” Bokuto replied. “I mean, you feel something when you meet them, right? Like, you get all warm and tingly?”

“Something like that, yes.” The doctor stepped back. “And you haven’t felt that at all?”

“Not since I met ‘Kaashi.” Bokuto confirmed. Akaashi blushed and averted his eyes as the doctor looked at him intensely. 

The next question threw both of them off. “Bokuto, how old are your parents?”

“Oh!” He had to think for a moment. “My mom is, like, 60? And my dad is probably 62?” 

“Do you have any recent pictures of them?”

“Yeah! We went to their house for dinner on Tuesday… Tuesday, right?” He directed the question to Akaashi, who nodded. 

Bokuto pulled up the picture on his phone. His parents were smiling proudly behind a large platter of food they had put together for Bokuto and Akaashi’s appearance. 

More importantly, neither of them looked a day over thirty. 

“Just as I thought. Are your parents soulmates?”

“I don’t think so.” 

“Often, when a child is born from two people who aren’t soulmates, the physical signs of meeting one can take much longer to manifest. This is because most of the time, the trait of aging faster is a recessive gene in both parents.” 

It took a moment for the information to sink in. Akaashi understood it at the same time Bokuto did, and they looked at each other in shock. 

Akaashi spoke first. “So that means…”

“I’ll have to run a test just to be sure. But based on the information you’ve given me, it’s very likely that you and your husband are soulmates.”

Akaashi could see the tears welling up in Bokuto’s eyes, and the doctor must have as well because he added a final “I’ll give you two a moment” and slipped out the door. 

The moment it shut, Bokuto and Akaashi embraced, Akaashi burying his face in Bokuto’s shoulder and Bokuto kissing the top of his head. 

“I love you. I love you so much, I love you. Oh my god.” Akaashi was stammering, but Bokuto’s arms were firm around his waist and he had never felt so safe - safe in the knowledge that he was where he should be, that he and his husband would be able to grow old together, and that the universe was on their side. 

“I love you more,” Bokuto said, and Akaashi couldn’t stop touching his hair, hair that would soon be grey and would show the true extent of their relationship. 

He pressed their foreheads together. 

He would never let go of Bokuto again. 

**Author's Note:**

> *slams fist into wall* bokuaka soulmates


End file.
